


While You Were Sleeping

by thecheekydragon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Derek, POV Stiles, While You Were Sleeping - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecheekydragon/pseuds/thecheekydragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles’ life takes a turn when he is mistaken for the fiancé of the woman whose life he saves.  Things start to get really complicated, though, when Stiles starts to fall for Laura’s twin brother, Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While You Were Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the 1995 film directed by Jon Turteltaub.
> 
> Written for Take One at [reel_wolves](http://reel-wolves.livejournal.com)
> 
> Graphic Art done by thecheekydragon.
> 
> See end for full cast of characters.

When Stiles was a boy, every Sunday he would sit with his dad at the kitchen table in their modest but cozy two-story house in Beacon Hills and play “Spin the Globe”. His dad would do the spinning and Stiles would do the pointing and then they’d have a look at where Stiles’ finger had landed. Sometimes his finger landed on faraway exotic places like Pradesh, Gothenburg, Gampola but occasionally his finger landed on ordinary places like Jacksonville, and – once (Stiles still remembers the day) – it had landed right on the northern part of California where their sleepy little town was located.

He and his dad would do a little research – his dad had been the sheriff of Beacon County and had amazing investigative skills and Stiles had shown some serious Internet search skills at a young age – and then they would spend a week pretending to travel to the place Stiles’ finger had pointed. (Let’s just say it had been awkward when his dad had to explain to Stiles’ fourth grade teacher why his son refused to wear anything but a loin cloth to school because he insisted on “going native” like the tribal peoples who inhabited the Amazon Rainforest in south-east Peru.)

Anyway, it was the one thing Stiles and his dad had shared after his mom had died. They never missed a Sunday. Not one. Stiles had always looked forward to these Sundays with his dad. But his favorite part, was when his dad would tell Stiles what his mom would have liked about the place, smiling and laughing as though she’d been along on their mental journey, sharing in their adventures.

As a teenager, Stiles had asked his dad when he had first known his mom was The One. “She gave me the moon,” his dad replied. Well, it was actually a canvas painting of a full moon over the preserve in Beacon Hills but it might as well have been the real deal the way his dad always got that goofy look – the look of a man who’d been completely _in love_.

Well, when Stiles first saw her, she didn’t exactly give him the moon. It was a buck-seventy-five train token, but it was like being given a gift of pure glittering gold. He looked forward to seeing her every single morning, Monday through Friday, his spirits lifting when she passed through the gate, casting a radiant smile that rendered him speechless (his dad would have found this amusing considering Stiles had been a chatterbox growing up).

She was absolutely _perfect_ – with a glossy mane of chestnut hair, brilliant green eyes, and ruby red lips. A real fairytale princess. The woman Stiles is going to marry. Okay, so he hasn’t actually spoken to her yet and he doesn’t even know her name (he’d seen the initials L.H. on her briefcase, though) but one day he’s going to do it. Yep, one day, he’s going to say ‘hello’ and he’s going to ask her out for coffee. And it’ll be perfect. His own modern day fairytale. Just like his dad had had with his mom. 

**  
“The usual,” Stiles tells the vendor, pulling out a five from his jacket pocket.

The vendor raises an eyebrow at him and grunts.

“Mustard. Hot peppers. Coke,” Stiles relays, rolling his eyes as the vendor turns to put together the order. He’s been getting the same lunch at the same vendor every working day for the past two years. He figures he’s reached the point of being able to order ‘the usual’. It was bratwurst and soda, for fuck’s sake, 260 days a year times two. 

“Stilinski,” a voice says at his elbow as Stiles takes his order. It’s his supervisor, Finstock. “I’ll have the usual,” Finstock tells the vendor, who immediately works to fill the order. Stiles sighs.

He carries his order over to a park bench, flicking open the tab on his can of Coke and biting into the sausage as he sits. Finstock joins him with his own bratwurst overflowing with a bizarre combination of fixings (seriously, who even puts _olives_ on sausage?)

“No,” Stiles says automatically.

Finstock gives him a look. “What? Can’t I sit and have lunch with my best and favorite employee without having some ulterior motive?”

Stiles lifts his eyebrows, conveying exactly what he thinks.

Finstock puts a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded, Stilinski,” he says around a mouthful of bratwurst. “In fact, I’m so wounded that you should make it up to me by working--”

“I’m not working Christmas,” Stiles quickly interjects. He’d worked Thanksgiving and had been promised – _promised_ – Christmas off. 

“You’ll get extra holiday pay,” Finstock entices, mumbling through his food.

“No.”

“And I won’t ask you to work any holidays next year.”

“No,” Stiles repeats. 

“Look, kid,” Finstock says resignedly. “I wish I didn’t have to ask. But there’s no one else. You’re the only one--”

“—without family,” Stiles finishes for him, frowning. 

Finstock gives him a sympathetic nod then shoves the rest of the bratwurst into his mouth. 

Stiles huffs a sigh. There are two and half million people living in Chicago. But right now he feels like the loneliest guy on the planet.

**

Christmas morning starts slow and gets slower as the morning drags on. He imagines most of the people coming through are travelling across the city to celebrate the day with family and friends. Stiles tells everyone to have a ‘Merry Christmas’ and most return the sentiment, although a few simply grunt and mumble. 

There’s nobody on the platform when he sees her striding toward the booth. She’s in a bright red coat today, looking beautiful and festive. She pulls off a black leather glove to drop a token in the slot and flashes Stiles a brilliant, perfect smile. 

“Merry Christmas,” she says in a voice that has Stiles believing she’s an angel.

“Nice coat,” he replies then mentally facepalms. Nice coat? “I mean, Merry Christmas too. To you. To you, too,” he stumbles out.

She chuckles and it’s as angelic as her voice, he decides. Before Stiles can say anything more (or possibly stick his foot in his mouth again), she passes through the turnstile and walks out onto the platform.

Stiles glances at the clock in his booth. The express train is due in approximately two and a half minutes. That’s two and half minutes he gets to appreciate the beauty of this woman who is going to be his wife some day. He watches her stride across the concrete in attractive black, high-heeled boots, toting a shopping bag full of brightly wrapped packages. Christmas presents, no doubt. Stiles wonders if she’s visiting family or friends as he admires both her legs and footwear. 

Her foot suddenly slips on a patch of ice and she loses her balance. Handbag and shopping bag go flying. Stiles watches in horror as she pitches forward, tumbling off the platform and onto the track.

He’s out of his booth and running before he even has time to think about it. The woman in the red coat is sprawled on the track, not moving, apparently unconscious. He jumps down from the platform onto the track and gently nudges her shoulder. 

“Uh, miss?” he says with urgency. “You got to wake up. Please. The train’s coming.”

Sure enough, Stiles can hear the train approaching, already too close to make an emergency stop. Which means he has to get the woman off the track. Now. Bending his knees and using his legs instead of his back (his dad always said it was important to use proper form when lifting), he picks the woman up and hefts her onto the platform. He grabs the handbag that had fallen with her and then pulls himself up just as the train whooshes into the station.

Stiles presses his body to the concrete and lets out a heavy exhale, his heart racing from the adrenaline pumping through him. Holy shit, that was close. 

It’s not long before paramedics are on the scene, assessing the woman (who is still unconscious) and asking Stiles if he’s okay. Then he and the woman are ushered into an ambulance (the woman on a stretcher, Stiles on weak, shaky legs) and whisked away to the hospital. 

**

At the hospital, Stiles is taken to triage to assess and treat injuries he hadn’t even been aware he’d sustained. The woman is wheeled through to Emergency.

After he’s patched up, he goes over to the nurse’s station. 

“The woman that was brought in here,” he says. “Unconcious. Uh, red coat.” He mimes putting on a jacket, for some odd reason, probably due to trauma. “Where would she...where would she have been taken?”

Stiles doesn’t even know this woman but he feels like he should at least find out how she is. He had seen some blood on her temple and she hadn’t returned to consciousness during the ambulance ride. 

The nurse consulted her computer. “Looks like she was taken up to Neurology,” she tells him. “Second floor.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says with a smile then heads for the elevators.

He realizes he’s clutching the woman’s handbag in his hand when he steps into the elevator. It takes Stiles a half a second to decide to look through it in hopes of discovering the woman’s identity. He finds a driver’s license and a credit card in the name of Laura Hale. L.H. The initials on her briefcase.

He steps off the elevator on the second floor and heads to the nurse’s station. There’s a guy there in scrubs, with blond curls, killer cheekbones, and the longest eyelashes Stiles has ever seen.

Stiles places palms on the desk. “A woman was brought up not too long ago,” he says without preamble. “Laura Hale. Can you tell me how she’s doing?”

The guy flips through a chart on the desk. The badge hanging from his neck reads ‘Isaac Lahey, R.N.’. So, he’s a nurse then. He looks up at Stiles. “Looks like she’s still unconscious.”

Stiles runs a hand through his mess of hair. This is not good. He knows from his dad and Scott’s mom that if someone is unconscious for too long, there is risk of slipping into a coma. He blows out a sigh, turning away from the desk. “Just my luck,” he mumbles. “The woman I’m going to marry is in a coma on Christmas day.”

He settles into a chair in the waiting area. He still has the woman’s – Laura’s – purse. He’s hoping to be able to give it to her when she wakes up and, if she doesn’t (Stiles doesn’t want to think about this possibility) then he supposes he’ll pass it along to a family member or friend.

He isn’t aware that he nods off until he’s woken up by Isaac, the nurse. Stiles rubs at his eyes and doesn’t protest when the nurse puts a hand on his arm and says “Come with me,” then leads him down the corridor, ushering him into one of the rooms.

Laura is lying unconscious in the bed, tubes running from her nose and mouth. All Stiles can do is stare at her. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, why Isaac even brought him here. 

It isn’t long before a group of people crowd into the room and around the hospital bed. There’s a middle-aged woman who bears resemblance to Laura along with a girl in her teens and a younger one in her pre-teens. Mother and sisters? Stiles guesses. There’s a blond woman too and an elderly woman who looks spry for her age. One man, attractive by objective standards, accompanies the five women.

“Oh goodness, she’s so pale.”

“She’ll be okay, right?”

“What happened?”

“She’s in a coma.”

“On Christmas day.”

“How depressing.”

“Her vital signs look strong.”

“Of course, they’re strong. She’s a Hale.”

“How did this happen?”

“Uh, she slipped and fell off the platform at the train station,” Stiles tells them from his spot in the corner. 

The sole man of the group turns and zeroes in on him. “And just who the _hell_ are you?”

Stiles opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by a police officer who comes into the room. “I’m looking for a Stiles Stilinski?” he asks, glancing around at the group of them. “The one who pulled Ms. Hale to safety?” he clarifies. “Her fiancé?”

Her what?

“Fiance?!”

“Laura’s getting married?”

“Laura’s getting married!”

“Wait. Laura’s marrying _him_? I thought she was going to marry Jack-ass, I mean Jackson.”

“Cora, _language._ ”

“Just stating a _fact_ , Mom.”

“She’s got a point, Talia. That Whitmore fellow’s an ass.”

“Peter! Language!”

Stiles allows the officer to lead him into the hallway while Laura’s family continues to bicker over appropriate language and some guy named Jackson. 

“Just need to ask a few questions,” the officer says and Stiles nods.

The cop asks his questions and Stiles provides answers, detailing to the best of his memory what had happened from the time Laura Hale went through the turnstile to when they were both whisked away in the ambulance. The cop takes down his address and phone number in case of any need for follow-up, has Stiles initial next to the notes taken and thanks Stiles not only for his time but his heroic actions. (Stiles may blush a little and mumbles something about not being a ‘hero’.)

“Wait,” Stiles says as the officer turns to go. ““Why did you say I’m her – Laura Hale’s – fiancé?”

“That’s what the guy at the desk told me,” the officer says, jerking his thumb toward Nurse Isaac. 

Oh. Huh.

Stiles strides over to the desk. “I’m not her fiancé,” he says to Isaac, on the verge of panic. “Why would you say that?”

Isaac looks at him, confused. “What?”

“You told the cop I was Laura Hale’s _fiancé_. What the hell, dude. We’re not engaged. I’ve never even spoken to her!”

Isaac scrunches his nose. It would be adorable, except for the circumstances. “You’re not?” Stiles shakes his head frantically. “But I heard you. You said you were going to marry her,” Isaac tells him, his tone defensive. 

Stiles throws up his arms in frustration. “I was talking to myself!” 

Isaac gives him a wry look. “Really. Well, next time you talk to yourself, remind yourself you’re not engaged.”

Stiles pulls at his hair. “What am I going to do?” he says, mostly to himself but he’s learned that lesson. Isaac shrugs. “Her family thinks we’re getting married.” Isaac tilts his head as if to say, ‘not my problem’. “Not helping, dude.”

“Just tell them it was a mistake,” Isaac says. 

Stiles runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah.” Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. He’ll just tell the group of people in the hospital room there that it’s all a mistake. That he and Laura are not engaged. That he doesn’t even know Laura. That he’s just been passively stalking her the last few months from his token booth at the train station. That should put their minds at ease. 

He doesn’t even have time to think through how he’s going to tell them without portraying himself as a creepy stalker before the blond woman is suddenly yanking him by the elbow, pulling him back toward the hospital room. “We need you in here,” she says. “The doctor is just about to explain what’s going on with Laura.” Stiles shoots a helpless glance at Isaac, but the nurse just gives him an encouraging thumbs up. 

The doctor - Dr. Martin - is an attractive young woman with strawberry-blond hair and a no-nonsense attitude. “Is he the fiancé?” she asks crisply, nodding toward Stiles. 

Everyone in the room makes sounds to the effect that he is. Could the hole possibly get any deeper? Stiles thinks forlornly. 

Stiles barely listens as Dr. Martin explains that Laura has lapsed into a prolonged state of unconsciousness most likely resulting from the head trauma caused by the fall. There’s something about ‘cerebral edema’ and ‘electroencephalographic activity’ and some other medical jargon Stiles doesn’t understand but he catches the words ‘positive prognosis’, which he interprets as a good sign.

The doctor departs, leaving Stiles with the Hale family. He swallows several times then makes attempts at clearing his throat, trying to muster the nerve to tell them the truth.

“I’m--” he begins. 

“Stiles Stilinski,” the middle-aged woman says, moving toward Stiles. “I’m Talia Hale, Laura’s mother.” She waves a hand at the elderly woman. “This is my mother, Dara. Nana Dara is what we usually call her.” She gestures toward the man. “My brother, Peter, Laura’s uncle.” The teenaged girl. “Cora.” And the younger girl. “Mara. Laura’s sisters.” Now the blond woman, who flashes Stiles a mischievous grin. “And Erica. She’s sort of an adopted daughter, you could say.” Talia Hale smiles. “But I’m guessing Laura’s already filled you in on the Hale family tree.”

“Um…” is all Stiles gets out before he’s bombarded with questions.

“So how’d you and Laura meet?” Erica wants to know.

“Was it love at first sight?” wonders Mara. 

“Did you ask her to marry you or did she ask you? I bet she asked you,” Cora says. “Laura’s very aggressive like that.”

“Assertive,” Talia corrects.

Cora rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath.

“Don’t tell us you stole her away from Jackas-son,” Peter comments, a wicked glint in his eyes. 

“Spill the beans, boy!” Nana Dara demands at Stiles’ elbow, nudging him in the ribs. When did she sneak up on him? “Old woman here.”

Six pairs of expectant eyes lock onto him. 

“Uh…” Stiles says like a deer caught in headlights. He just needs to say that he and Laura are not engaged. That it was a misunderstanding. A dozen or so words at most. But what he says is, “At work. Yes. She did. Kinda?”

Stupid doesn’t even begin to describe what an epic idiot Stiles is. 

**

Stiles tromps up the steps to his second floor flat, ruminating on what a terrible person he is for leading the Hales on about his ‘engagement’ to Laura. He had the perfect opportunity to clear things up at the hospital. But for some unfathomable reason, he just couldn’t tell them. It might have had something to do with the way Laura’s nana had clung tightly to him or the way her mother had smiled kindly and openly welcomed him into their family even though he was practically a stranger. Cora, Mara and Erica hadn’t helped matters with the way they fell into teasing him, just like he’d always imagined having sisters would be like. Only Laura’s uncle had remained aloof, although Stiles suspects this had more to do with the man’s personality than his attitude toward Stiles.

When he reaches the landing, he finds the landlady’s son leaning against his door, idly sweeping a hand through his hair and picking at his teeth.

“Heyyy, Greenberg,” Stiles greets warily, plucking out his keys from his front jeans pocket.

Greenberg – it’s the guy’s last name, Stiles doesn’t even know if he has a first – gives him a toothy grin (there’s a black speck between his two front teeth, probably pepper) then he schools his features, strikes an awkward-looking pose, and cocks an eyebrow. Stiles thinks he’s going for suave and debonair but the guy misses by a long shot.

“So, tomorrow night…” Greenberg drawls in what Stiles guesses is meant to be seductive.

Stiles flashes a questioning look as he reaches around Greenberg to unlock his door.

“Ice Capades,” Greenberg announces.

Stiles is pretty sure it’s an invitation. He chooses to play ignorant.

“Oh. Well, have fun with that,” Stiles tells him before gently closing the door, leaving Greenberg standing on the landing on the other side.

He waits for the knock. Luckily, there isn’t one. Stiles breathes out a sigh of relief.

Stiles isn’t in any way adverse to being ‘hit on’ by guys – he’s an equal opportunist when it comes to romance – but it’s just that, well, Greenberg isn’t The One. He doesn’t have to go on a date with the guy to know this. There’s no spark, no tingling, no---Nothing like his dad had described upon meeting Stiles’ mom. 

Cheeto pounces at him (how a cat his size manages to pounce at all mystifies Stiles) in greeting. Stiles pets the large orange tabby cat, scratching affectionately behind its ears.

“No more Cheetos for you, big guy,” he tells the cat, depositing him onto the floor. Cheeto wanders over to his food dish, nosing around in the empty bowl. Stiles grabs a handful of cat food from the bag in the cupboard and drops it into the bowl before settling on the couch to think on the bizarre events of today. 

He should probably call Finstock to fill him in on what happened at the station. But it’s Christmas. Besides, the police had already contacted his supervisor as well as the heads of the CTA, which is standard procedure whenever there is an incident like someone falling onto the tracks. 

He calls Scott instead. 

“Merry Christmas, Stiles,” Scott greets and Stiles can hear the din of festivities in the background. Scott’s mom and Allison’s dad, most likely, Allison and three-year old Victoria. 

“You too,” Stiles says then, “My life, dude.”

“What’s up?” Scott says, which serves to open the floodgates. 

Stiles tells Scott all about Laura Hale and how she’s in a coma and about how the entire Hale family plus someone called Erica now thinks they’re engaged to be married and how he’s largely responsible (well, Isaac too) for letting them believe that this is true. 

“I didn’t even have the balls to tell them it was all just a misunderstanding,” Stiles laments, petting Cheeto who had crawled into Stiles’ lap. “She’s in a coma, dude. What the hell am I going to say when she wakes up? _If_ she wakes up. Oh my God, I’m the worst human being on the planet. A woman is in a _coma_ and I told her family she _proposed_ to me.”

“Stiles,” Scott manages to interject. “This isn’t totally your fault. And there’s still time to set things straight.”

“But--”

“Dude, you saved her life. Do you really think one little misunderstanding is going to turn her family against you? You’re a hero, man.”

And this is why Scott is Stiles’ best friend and will always be his best friend, even though he lives two thousand miles away with his wife and daughter in Scott and Stiles’ hometown of Beacon Hills. Because even when Stiles gets himself into a mess of his own doing, Scott still sees the positive in all of it. He doesn’t tell Stiles he’s a fuck up. No. He tells Stiles he’s a freaking hero because he saved the life of his not-fiancé. Stiles is sure it’s probably unhealthy for Scott to encourage his delusion of being a real-life superhero, but what are best friends for, right?

There’s a knock at his door. Probably Greenberg, Stiles thinks, remembering that he forgot to wish Stiles a Merry Christmas while he was attempting to seduce him. Stiles tells Scott, “Gotta go, dude. Someone’s at my door. Wish everyone a Merry Christmas for me and give them all hugs and kisses. Well, not Allison’s dad ‘cause, you know, I’m not sure he likes me. 

Scott chuckles. “Will do. Talk to you later.”

Stiles sets the phone down on the coffee table and the cat down on the floor then goes to answer his door.

It’s the police officer from the hospital. 

“These were collected from the scene,” the cop says, handing a bag over to Stiles. It looks like wrapped packages, the ones Laura must have dropped when she slipped and fell.

“Oh. Uh…thank you,” Stiles says awkwardly as he takes the bag. It’s Laura’s family not Stiles these should probably be returned to, but the hole’s been dug already so he accepts them. 

Stiles admits he’s got little self-control (he used to blame it on his ADHD when he was younger but he’s an adult now and has little excuse) so it’s hardly surprising that he ends up peeking through the bag. There are attractively wrapped packages for Laura’s mom and uncle, Nana Dara, for Cora and Mara, and for Erica (and someone called ‘Boyd’). There are no packages for ‘Jackson’ but there is a package – from the look and feel of it, it’s a book, Stiles guesses – for someone named ‘Derek’. Stiles really hopes this isn’t some new boyfriend. Maybe Laura had dumped Jackson and is seeing someone else. And, really, how weird is it that Stiles is speculating about the love life of someone he barely knows even if he is kind of accidentally fake-engaged to her?

It’s after he shares a frozen dinner with Cheeto (yes, he knows he shouldn’t be feeding turkey and mashed potatoes to his cat, but it’s Christmas) and takes a soothing, hot shower that he decides the right thing to do – he does occasionally make good decisions, okay? –is to return the packages to Laura. This way her family will be able to get the Christmas presents intended for them. 

He shrugs on a coat, grabs the bag with the packages, and heads out to catch a cab. Greenberg pops his head out the front door of the building while he’s waiting. “Hey, Stiles,” he calls out. “Merry Christmas. I, uh, you know, forgot to tell you that earlier.”

Luckily, the cab pulls up, sparing Stiles the awkwardness of getting into a deeper conversation with the landlady’s son. Stiles gives Greenberg a short wave, though, as the cab drives off. What? He’s a nice guy even if he’s not interested. And it is Christmas. 

**

Stiles encounters little difficulty making his way to Laura’s room on the second floor. There’s a woman at the nurse’s station instead of Isaac and Stiles wonders briefly if he’s supposed to check in or something. The nurse gives him a nod, though, which Stiles takes as a sign for ‘go ahead’ so he continues on to Laura’s room. 

He’s relieved to see that none of the Hales are there. He’ll just leave the bag with the packages on the chair by the bed for one of them to find and be on his way. Make a clean break. The Hales won’t even have to see him again. And when Laura wakes up and the truth is revealed, Stiles won’t have to see their disapproving faces. It’ll be like he’d never inserted himself into their lives. Or, well, not much, anyway. 

He glances at the woman in the hospital bed. She looks pale still but she hasn’t lost any of her angelic beauty. She’s like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White after she bit into the poisoned apple. A princess in a deep sleep waiting for her prince. 

Completely against his better judgment, Stiles sits down in the chair next to the bed. He debates with himself for a brief moment before taking one of Laura’s hands into his own, leaning forward.

“Uh, hi,” he says to the unconscious woman. “Um, I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here in the middle of the night, huh?” Stiles runs his free hand through his hair. “Well, I thought I should introduce myself. My name’s Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.” He breathes out a sigh. “I think you should know that your family thinks we’re engaged. Never been engaged before. Haven’t even dated much, to be honest. This is all very sudden for me.” His gaze falls onto the bag of packages. “Um. Brought your family’s Christmas presents. And I, uh, left your purse earlier with Erica – who is kinda frightening, by the way. But in a good way. Mostly a good way.” He smiles. “Your whole family is intense but they’re nice. Very nice. Kinda quirky. But good people. Loving. Caring. That sort of thing.” 

Stiles blows out another sigh. “Look, I just wanted to say that I didn’t mean for this to happen. I could blame it all on Isaac but it’s not really his fault. I talk to myself all the time. I’m kind of talking to myself now, right? Since you’re unconscious and probably can’t hear a word I’m saying. And even if you can, you’re probably like ‘what! who is this guy?’. I just don’t know what to do. I mean, if you were awake, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Oh, god. Not that I’m blaming you. Sorry. It’s just that--”  
He pauses to suck in a breath. “When I was a kid, you know, I always imagined what it would be like, what my life would be like when I got older. Figured I’d have a house and family and things like that. Not that I’m complaining or anything about my life right now. ‘Cause, you know, I have a cat. I have an apartment. Sole possession of the remote control. That’s very important. It’s just that…I’ve never met anybody that I could laugh with, you know? 

D-Do you believe in love at first sight? Nah, I bet you don’t. You’re too sensible for that. Or have you ever, like, seen somebody and you knew that if only that person really knew you…they would, well, of course, dump the perfect model that they were with and realize that you were the one that they wanted to just grow old with.” Stiles gives a wry smile. “Have you ever fallen in love with somebody you haven’t even talked to? Have you ever been so lonely that you let a bunch of people think you’re engaged because it would hurt too much to tell them the truth?”

A nurse comes in to check Laura’s vital signs. Stiles waits while the nurse does her assessment, wanting to be sure that everything is okay. She gestures at Stiles to straighten the sheets around Laura, which had shifted during the day. Stiles tries not to notice that Laura’s hospital gown has risen up, exposing a span of her hip, as he pulls the sheet back and then up under the watchful eye of the nurse. He does, however, catch sight of a symbol inked there – three interlocking spirals. Huh.

He follows the nurse out of the room and heads for the elevators. It’s late and he really needs to get home. The elevator pings as he reaches to press the down button and it opens to reveal the female complement of the Hale family. 

So much for escaping without notice. 

“Stiles!” Mara exclaims. 

“This one’s definitely better than Jackson,” Cora comments dryly. 

“Oh, honey, have you been here a while?” Talia asks him, putting a hand on his arm, looking concerned. Nana Dara pats his other arm and makes soothing noises. 

Peter is coming down the hall, a cell phone pressed to his ear. He gives a curt nod to Stiles, continuing with his conversation. “The prognosis is good, Derek. Yes. Yes, she’s getting the best care.” Pause. “Drive safely. We’ll see you soon.” 

“That Derek?” Talia asks her brother and Stiles tries not to panic. If Derek turns out to be Laura’s new boyfriend…

“He hit a patch of bad weather,” Peter tells her. “Should be home later tonight.”

“That’s good,” Talia says. “I know he’s probably worried about Laura.”

“We’re all worried.”

“Yes, but you know the twin connection has always been very strong between them,” Talia replies.

Twin connection? thinks Stiles. Wait. Are they saying Laura has a _twin_? 

“You haven’t met Derek yet,” Mara says to Stiles. 

Stiles shakes his head, still disoriented from the twin revelation.

Cora snorts. “That’ll be a treat,” she says. “My brother is like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas.”

“Cora!” Talia chastises. 

Cora rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying he can be a bit of a grumpy pants.” 

“He’s got a lot of responsibilities,” Talia defends. 

“I believe the term is ‘taciturn’ not ‘grumpy pants’,” Peter expresses, giving Cora a wink.

Cora rolls her eyes a second time but laughs. “Whatever. Just thought Stiles should be prepared.”

For what exactly? Stiles wonders. It’s not like he’s actually going to meet this Derek, right? He’s going home, opening the presents he wrapped for Cheeto under the two-foot plastic tree, and then curling up in bed with the tabby. After tonight, he doesn’t have to see the Hales again. He can just vanish out of their lives. They’ll put the pieces together sure enough, all on their own.

“Well, um, I, I have to go,” Stiles announces. “It was great to see you guys again.” He reaches to push the elevator button. 

“Mom!” Mara calls, coming down the hallway with the bag of packages Stiles had left by her bedside. “Laura’s presents have been left here. Can we open them? Please?”

“Yeah, can we?” Cora adds. “Laura always gives the best presents.”

The elevator opens. Stiles hesitates a fraction of a second to step inside, which apparently gives Nana Dara the chance to grab hold of his arm – she’s surprisingly strong for an old woman – and pull him back. 

“We missed Christmas,” she says, turning toward Laura’s mother. 

Talia seems to understand where Nana Dara is going with this. “I suppose we can check on Laura and then go back to the house and open up presents,” she offers. 

“Yes!” Mara exclaims excitedly. “And Stiles can come!” 

“I really don’t think--” Stiles begins.

“Of course, he’s coming,” Nana Dara says. “He’s family.”

“Yeah, we can’t have Christmas without Stiles,” Mara insists.

“Laura would never forgive us,” Cora adds.

The Hale women look at him expectantly. Peter, he notices, is giving him a curious look, which Stiles can’t even begin to decipher. 

“Um. Well. I mean…I should probably…well, ” Stiles stumbles, trying to find words to convey his regrets. Because he really needs to decline the invitation. He runs a hand through his hair. Nana Dara smiles brightly at him and Mara is already tugging at the sleeve of his coat. “Yeah. So. Well, if you don’t mind...I guess…I guess I can come?” 

Stiles mentally bangs his head against the back wall as the six of them ride the elevator down together, Talia efficiently delegating who is to go with Peter and who is to ride with her back to the Hale house. 

Yeah. He’s going to have to give Scott another call. He’s pretty sure he’s gonna need a proverbial bag to breathe in. Like, soon.

**

Laura’s presents end up being the hit of the Hale gift-opening. Talia and Nana Dara love the perfumes, Mara is ecstatic over the earrings and Cora the necklace. Peter expresses appreciation for the expensive leather gloves and cashmere scarf. Erica squeals over the weekend getaway package Laura had given her and Boyd (her husband, as it turns out).

Nana Dara says something about Laura always spending too much money on them, to which Talia replies, “Laura always did have extravagant tastes.”

“She’s one of the top rated lawyers in the city,” Peter comments dryly. “She can afford it.”

Huh. So Laura is a lawyer, Stiles thinks. That’s good to know. 

“Did Laura already give you her gift?” Cora asks Stiles, looking through the bag. She puts the lone present – the one for her twin Derek – on the coffee table.

Stiles waves a hand. “Uh, we decided to go for a nice dinner instead of exchanging gifts,” he says, hoping none of the Hales will question this. Peter raises an eyebrow. “You know, wedding and all,” he adds, silently cursing himself for digging the hole deeper and deeper. 

Mara gets up from her spot on the floor and crosses over to where Stiles is sitting in an old but comfy recliner. She holds out a hastily wrapped package. “This is for you,” she says somewhat shyly, “I made it.”

Stiles gives her a bright smile and opens the package. It’s a woven bracelet made of brightly colored threads. He slips it onto his wrist. “It’s perfect,” he tells Mara, pulling the girl in for a hug. 

“Yeah, sure,” Cora pretend-grumbles from the couch. “You’re gonna be his favorite now.”

Mara blushes then crosses over to lightly cuff her sister on the side of the head. Cora retaliates by poking Mara in the ribs. This soon evolves into a tickling match with Erica joining in.

Stiles fingers the rainbow bracelet. It’s been many years since anyone has done something like this for him. He hasn’t seen Tory since she was a baby and Stiles never had any brothers or sisters himself. Just his dad and Scott for nearly eighteen years. He glances around at the Hales - giggling, smiling, joking – and suddenly feels himself getting a little choked up. He’d spent the last five years in Chicago all alone with no family or friends. Sure, he’d made a few acquaintances while he was in school and at work but nothing like he’d had with his dad and with Scott. Nothing like the Hales had and kindly sharing with him this Christmas day.

He knows he should leave. He doesn’t belong here. He’s not part of their family, however much Stiles wishes he could be. He gets up from the armchair and stealthily makes his way toward the foyer. It would be better if he just left without any fanfare. Let the Hales continue their celebration without Stiles interfering where he doesn’t belong.

He makes it out onto the porch before he feels a hand clap down on his shoulder. 

“Sneaking off, are you?” Uncle Peter says, closing the door behind him. He gives Stiles a considering look.

“Uh, it’s getting late,” Stiles says. “I really should be going.” 

Peter raises that eyebrow again. “Without saying goodbye?”

Stiles shuffles his feet. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to, you know, spoil the fun or anything.”

Peter continues to look at him, his face still considering. It’s rather unnerving. After a full beat of silence, Peter finally says, “Look, I know.”

“Know what?” Stiles says warily, panic slowly creeping in.

“That you lied about being engaged to Laura,” Peter says and Stiles’ heart sinks. “I heard you at the hospital earlier,” he explains. 

“It was a misunderstanding,” Stiles quickly defends. “Isaac – the nurse – well, he misunderstood something and then passed it on to the cop. And then everything just happened so fast. I wanted to explain but--Your family…” Stiles drags a hand through his hair. “You guys have just been so sweet and so welcoming. I didn’t know how to tell you--them.”

Peter smiles wryly. “Never let it be said that Hales do anything short of full-force.”

Stiles chuckles at this but then schools his face into seriousness. “Everyone’s going to hate me. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll tell what you’re going to do. You’re going to get back in there,” Peter says with a flick of his thumb toward the house, “have some of Nana Dara’s wickedly spiked eggnog, sing along to obnoxiously cheery Christmas carols, and have fun.”

“What?” Where is the bit about telling the Hale women that he’s lied to them? “W-what am I supposed to tell them?”

“Don’t tell them a damn thing,” Peter says, his eyes gleaming. “It’s Christmas, Stiles. It’s the one day of the year everyone should get a pass.”

“And then?”

“We’ll worry about that later,” Peter says, opening the door and gesturing for Stiles to head back inside.

As Stiles steps back into the Hale house, he can’t help but wonder if he’s making the best decision or worst mistake of his life. 

**

Derek drives straight to the hospital as soon as he’s back in Chicago. He wants to see Laura before he heads home to see the rest of his family. Peter had been characteristically ‘vague’ in his updates about Derek’s twin sister, though he had assured Derek that the outlook was good and that Laura was being given the absolute best care.

Damn right she’ll be given the best care, Derek thinks, as he punches the button for the elevator. Or Laura will certainly sue the hospital. And nobody wants to go up against Laura Hale. She is one of the top rated lawyers in the city, after all. 

Even though he was prepared for the sight of his sister lying in a hospital bed, it still jolts Derek’s emotions to see her like that – pale, weak, and helpless. Peter had said that Laura had slipped and fallen on the tracks at the train station, that someone had pulled her to safety, but that Laura had been knocked unconscious and had not yet woken up. The doctors had confirmed that there was no brain damage and they seem confident that Laura will wake within a day or two. His sister is obnoxiously stubborn so Derek figures that it won’t take long for her to come around. 

He sits at her bedside for the better part of an hour before patting her hand and telling her he’s got to go. It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning and Derek is bone tired from his mini-trip north (why his uncle had to send him to scope out the area for the proposed expansion the day before Christmas, he’ll never know), not to mention a little stressed from navigating through a snowstorm while worrying about Laura. 

He lets himself inside the house, relieved to finally be home. Derek hangs his jacket and keys and lopes toward the staircase, passing by the family room on the way. In his periphery, he catches sight of a human-shaped lump on the couch, dimly lit by the lights from the Christmas tree. Derek stops, backs up a step, and squints to get a better look. 

There’s a guy Derek has never seen before on their couch, one leg and one arm dangling over the side, his head tipped back, mouth wipe open. If he was closer, Derek is certain he’d see drool spilling from those obscenely plump lips.

Who the hell…?

“Derek!”

He turns just as Mara launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight hug. She plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” Derek whispers fondly. 

“See, I told Cora you’re not a Grinch,” she says, rolling her eyes to make the point. 

“Of course, I’m not a Grinch,” he tells Mara. “I’m _the_ Grinch.” He tickles her sides and Mara squirms out of his arms, laughing. 

He jerks his head toward the lump on the couch. “Who’s that?”

“Stiles.”

“Stiles?” 

Mara’s head bobs up and down. “Laura’s fiancé.”

Derek’s brows pull together. Laura’s _fiancé_? “No,” he says. “That can’t be Laura’s fiancé.” 

“Uh-huh,” Mara insists. 

Derek looks back at the guy sprawled out on the family room couch. There is no way Laura is engaged, he thinks. She would have told him, surely. 

“You’re gonna like him,” his little sister says, interrupting Derek’s thoughts. “I really like him. Mom likes him. I think Cora likes him. Nana _loves_ him. Even Uncle Peter likes him – well, more than _Jackson_ anyway.”

Derek takes another peek at the sleeping man on the couch. It would seem this guy has won over his entire family, even his uncle who is a hard man to impress. Well, Derek thinks, as he heads up the staircase to his old bedroom, there’s still one Hale this guy is going to have to win over.

**

Derek is sitting on the third step of the staircase, sipping a black coffee, when Laura’s ‘fiance’ tries to make his escape.

“Good morning,” Derek says just as the guy reaches for the door handle.

The guy jumps, his arms flailing. Derek isn’t going to lie, it’s incredibly amusing. The guy slaps a hand to his chest, looking wide-eyed at Derek. “Oh, geez,” he breathes out. “You scared the crap out of me.” 

“Sorry,” Derek says, although he’s really not. “We didn’t get to meet yesterday. I’m Derek.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah,” the guy acknowledges, raking a hand through his completely disheveled hair. It looks like a horde of hamsters had nested in it. “Laura’s, uh, brother. Yeah. I’m Stiles.” He blows out a breath. “Well, that’s not actually my _real_ name,” he tells Derek. “That’s too hard to pronounce. So. Yeah. I go by Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. You probably get where ‘Stiles’ comes from now. The ‘Stil’ part of Stilinski, with an E-S added. Yeah, I’m sure you got that. You look like a smart guy. Anyway, I’ll stop talking now.”

Derek stares at him then cocks an eyebrow. 

“Okay,” Stiles says. He jerks a thumb at the door. “Gotta go. Cab. Need coffee. Eggnog kicked my butt. I think I have a hangover.” 

A second eyebrow joins the first. 

“Not that I’m in the habit of getting hangovers,” Stiles clarifies. “Or drinking. I mean, I drink occasionally. I’m a social drinker, I guess. I drink in social contexts, like at get-togethers and parties and stuff. I don’t have a _problem_ with alcohol or anything like that. Or drugs. Just in case you were wondering. And I go to maybe one or two parties a year. Tops.” He seems to catch himself. “Okay, why am I telling you this?”

Derek shrugs. He hides the smirk playing at his lips behind the coffee mug. He’s always been good at intimidating Laura’s boyfriends just by sheer presence. To be honest, though, this guy seems to need little encouragement as far as rambling goes. 

“Anyway,” Stiles says, turning the door handle now. He smiles awkwardly. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you, Derek.”

Derek nods. “You too, Stiles.”

After Stiles leaves, Derek stays sitting on the step, finishing the last of his coffee, thinking. Laura’s fiancé has turned out to be not at all what he had expected. And, well, he’s having a hard time accepting that his sister is actually engaged to this guy. 

It’s not that he’s adverse to his sister getting married or that he’s the kind of brother who feels it’s his duty to screen potential partners for his sisters. He isn’t. It’s just that – well – this guy is not really his sister’s type. Derek _knows_ Laura’s type. Her type is generally good-looking with money and self-confident to the point of obnoxiously arrogant, like that Jackson Twit-more guy she’d been dating the last time Derek had spoken to her. 

But this guy? Stiles? Sure, he’s quirky and cute. Very cute. With gorgeous amber eyes, long, lush eyelashes, and plump kissable lips. And _moles_ – beautiful, adorable moles that dot his face and neck. So, yeah, he’s definitely good-looking in a cute and quirky way but he’s not someone his sister would normally give a second glance to. Because, well, _he’s not her type_.

Stiles is, however, very much _Derek’s_ type. He scowls down at his empty mug, suddenly feeling very grumpy. It’s just like Laura to score a guy who is perfect for her twin brother, Derek thinks. And, worse yet, she’s going to marry him. 

**

“ _I am so, so screwed._ ”

“Stiles?”

“Yes, Scott,” Stiles says into the phone with a hint of exasperation. “Who else would be calling you Boxing Day morning announcing the pathetic, screwed up state of his life?” 

He hears Scott huff a sigh on the other end. “What now?”

“Well, I’m still engaged, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Scott makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. Or maybe it’s a yawn. Stiles’ cell phone reception isn’t that great.

“Dude,” his best friend says. “I thought you were gonna tell them it was all a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah,” Stiles huffs. “Easier said than done, buddy.” He rakes a hand through his hair, which must look ridiculous, he realizes. Heat rises to his cheeks. Of course his hair looks ridiculous. 

“What happened?” Scott asks, pulling Stiles from his mortifying thoughts.

“Talia invited me for Christmas. We opened presents. Mara made me a bracelet. I drank too much of Nana Dara’s eggnog. We sang Christmas carols. Did you know that Boyd could play the piano?”

“Who’s Boyd?” Scott asks with confusion.

Stiles ignores him. “The eggnog was delicious,” he continues. “But about ninety percent rum. I giggled a lot. _Giggled_ , Scott. And then fell asleep on their couch. When I woke up this morning, I figured I could escape and then maybe send them a card with a note explaining the whole thing. But, of course, that’s when I ran into _him_.”

“Him?”

“Laura’s twin brother,” Stiles says. “With my hair looking like a troop of hamsters had marched through it.” He pulls on the ends of his offending tresses.

“Laura has a twin brother?” Scott asks, clearly confused.

“ _Yes_ , Scott,” Stiles says, exasperated. “You really need to keep up here.”

Stiles yanks open the door to his building, bumping smack into Greenberg when he steps inside.

“Sorry, dude,” Stiles says to the landlady’s son.

Greenberg gives him a bright smile, mumbling something as Stiles takes the stairs to his flat two at a time. 

“Who was that?” Scott queries, reminding Stiles that he is still on the phone with his best friend. He’s lucky he’s got a good cell phone plan. 

“Just Greenberg,” he tells him.

“Oh. The one who has a crush on you? Your landlady’s son?”

Stiles can hear the amusement in Scott’s voice. “He doesn’t have a crush,” Stiles tells him, knowing it’s useless. When Scott had visited a few months ago, Stiles had spent most of the time dodging Greenberg’s awkward advances. Still, crushes are something high school kids have and Stiles is sure Greenberg is out of high school. Maybe. “Anyway, dude, back to my problem.”

Scott sighs. “Right. Engaged. But not really. Great family. Twin brother. Hamster hair. And why is that important?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. He loves Scott but the guy never could connect the dots on his own. “ _Because_ , Scott,” he says. 

_Because Laura’s twin brother is the hottest guy Stiles has ever seen. Like, whoa._

He must say this out loud because Scott is saying, “Dude. _Tell me_ you don’t have a crush on your fake-fiancé’s twin brother.”

Normally, Stiles would debate the ‘crush’ thing (see previous note concerning high schoolers) but he’s too busy focusing on the phrase ‘fake-fiancé’s twin brother’. Because, seriously. His life. Throw in the part about said fake-fiance being in a coma and his life has got all the makings of a torrid daytime serial. Yay.

“Pfft,” is all he manages. 

Scott wisely doesn’t comment. He waits a beat then says, “So who’s Boyd again?”

Stiles hangs up.

**

He’s just getting out of the shower when there’s a knock on the door. Stiles crosses over to it and glances through the peephole. It’s Greenberg. He seriously considers not answering it. But Stiles is too nice of a guy for that. He sighs heavily and pulls the door open.

“Hey, Greenberg,” he greets, continuing to rub his hair with the towel. He notices Greenberg staring at his bare chest. Yeah, he probably should have put a shirt on with the sweat pants before opening his door.

“Hi, Stiles,” Greenberg says, not taking his eyes off Stiles’ chest. Stiles flushes. “Uh, you about almost ready?”

“For what?” Stiles asks, confused. 

“Ice Capades,” Greenberg tells him.

“Oh,” Stiles says, realization dawning. Greenberg obviously hadn’t gotten the message. “Yeah. Um, about that,” he says, not wanting to hurt the kid’s feelings. “I thought you had understood. I can’t go tonight.” 

A look of disappointment passes over Greenberg’s face. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” Stiles tells him. “But I’ve already got, uh, plans. For tonight. Unfortunately.” He scrunches his face to project feigned disappointment. 

Greenberg’s expression continues to look dull. It takes a second for Stiles to notice that Greenberg is wearing a nice sweater and a pair of dress pants. He feels like a total ass.

“Hey, why don’t we grab coffee sometime,” Stiles offers to soothe Greenberg’s feelings. Grabbing coffee doesn’t imply ‘date’, right? It’s perfectly legit for two people to ‘grab coffee’, together even, at the same establishment, without it counting as a date. 

Greenberg’s face brightens and Stiles tries not to wince. He closes the door and turns toward his bedroom, intending to finish dressing. He doesn’t get more than two steps before there’s another knock at his door. 

Probably Greenberg again, Stiles thinks, wanting to know when they’ll ‘grab coffee’. 

“We’ll go _tomorrow_ , okay?” Stiles is saying as he yanks open the door. 

Derek Hale raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh. It’s you,” Stiles says, flushing, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. 

Derek is not prepared for the sight before him. Stiles. Shirtless. Wet. Blushing. He drags his gaze from Stiles’ naked chest – the patch of light hair dusting his pectorals and trailing down from his bellybutton duly noted – and focuses on his face, which in hindsight, is only slightly less arousing. Because moles, remember? And lips. And upturned nose. And _blushing_. 

“Shouldn’t you be looking through the peephole before answering your door?” Derek says and _what_? That’s what he decides to go with?

“I thought you were someone else,” Stiles mumbles. 

Derek raises both eyebrows now. He wonders whom Stiles had been expecting but Stiles chooses not to elaborate. 

“My family wants you to come to dinner tonight,” Derek tells him. It’s why he’s here. His mother had pretty much dispatched him to invite Stiles to family dinner. Derek had thought that Cora should do it, because well, _reasons_ , but his uncle had expressly reminded him that nobody refuses Talia Hale. “That is, if you don’t have any other plans,” he adds. 

Derek kind of hopes Stiles has other plans, frankly. 

“Oh, uh…” Stiles stumbles, glancing over Derek’s shoulder nervously. “I don’t have, uh, plans. Not really. Dinner would be nice, I guess. Cheeto and I shared a frozen turkey dinner for Christmas.”

Derek is about to ask who ‘Cheeto’ is when a large, orange tabby cat suddenly winds itself around his legs, purring loudly.

“He likes you,” Stiles remarks, picking up the cat. “Cheeto,” he explains with a wave at the big orange ball of fluff. 

Derek eyes the tabby warily. He’s really not a cat person. 

“So…dinner?” Derek says with another raise of his eyebrows. Stiles stares blankly at him. “It’s not formal or anything,” Derek tells him, “but we generally ask that everyone wears a shirt.” 

Stiles flushes. Again. It’s really _not_ adorable. He waves Derek inside, muttering something about changing clothes then disappears into a tiny room Derek assumes is Stiles’ bedroom. He tries hard not to imagine what it looks like, what kind of things Stiles must keep there. 

Because Stiles is engaged to Laura. And his sister is currently in a coma. 

Stiles is back in a flash, wearing jeans and a button down that accentuate his lithe build. He dashes into the bathroom for a moment and then quickly re-emerges, hands raking some product through the front of his hair. Derek hates to admit it, but Stiles makes a damn pretty sight. 

“Ready?” he asks, hoping that Stiles doesn’t notice the way his voice awkwardly catches.

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles says, raking a hand through his hair once more. 

Derek tells himself that Stiles doesn’t have beautiful fingers. It doesn’t stop him, however, from glancing at and appreciating said fingers during the entire drive to his family’s home. 

To say that he’s screwed is a huge understatement. 

**

Dinner is delicious – prime rib roast with garlic mashed potatoes, maple-glazed carrots and homemade bread. Talia Hale is a damn fine cook, Stiles decides. He wonders if Laura and Derek are too. Good cooks, that is. He mentally pictures Derek in an apron baking bread then quickly shakes the thought from his head. 

The questions start just after he’s begun to tuck in to the potatoes.

“So, Stiles, have you and Laura set a date already?” asks Erica.

“A date?” Stiles says around a mouthful of mashed spuds. “These potatoes are really creamy,” he compliments Talia. His dad had never been much of a cook. He could grill a good steak and microwave a potato or vegetable but that was about it. They had eaten a lot of take-out during Stiles’ childhood. 

“Thank you,” Talia says. “Special Hale recipe,” she tells him with a wink.

“For the wedding,” Erica continues to prod.

“Oh,” Stiles responds. “Um, not yet?” He shoves a large portion of food into his mouth, hoping to derail further questions. 

“I got married in the spring,” says Nana Dara. 

“Too much rain,” Cora says. “A summer wedding would be nice.”

“Laura’s always liked autumn,” Talia contributes. 

“You should get married on Halloween!” Mara squeals. “That would be so awesome.”

Stiles thinks it would be awesome, except that he and Laura are not really getting married. 

“You could have pumpkins and everyone could dress up,” Erica says brightly. 

“It might be cold, though,” Nana Dara comments. “Can’t predict Chicago weather that time of year.”

Stiles continues to shovel food into his mouth as the women discuss the pros and cons of having a fall wedding, possibly on Halloween. It’s suddenly clear to Stiles how all of this got away from him so quickly. 

He does his best to tune out the conversation, hoping to avoid a panic attack, and focuses on his plate of food. Peter, Boyd and Derek seem to be ignoring them as well, occasionally offering a grunt when their collective opinion is being sought. 

Stiles is spooning out a third helping of mashed potatoes when he notices Derek is staring at him. 

“Engagement ring,” Derek says flatly.

“What?”

“I noticed that Laura wasn’t wearing an _engagement ring_ ,” Derek clarifies.

“Oh. Well--”

“Don’t be stupid, Derek,” Cora interjects with a roll of her eyes. She’s really quite the queen of eye rolling, Stiles appreciates. “They don’t let hospital patients wear _jewelry_.”

“Um…” Stiles gets in before Mara adds to the conversation.

“Besides, _Laura_ asked _Stiles_ to marry her. She would have gotten _him_ a ring,” the girl says, like her brother is the biggest dummy for not knowing these things.

Derek’s gaze shifts to Stiles’ left hand. It’s bare, of course. Why wouldn’t it be? Because Stiles is not actually engaged to Laura Hale. 

“Uh…” 

It’s Peter who interjects next. “Laura didn’t give Stiles a ring,” he tells his nephew. “You know your sister. She’s more for grand gestures than trinkets. She gave Stiles a gift instead.” 

Stiles gapes at Peter. “She did?” he squeaks. Derek shoots him a glance. Stiles coughs, clearing his throat. “She did,” he says with marginal more confidence.

Derek looks at Stiles expectantly. 

“Yes, a painting,” Peter supplies, flashing Stiles a smile. Stiles wants to strangle him.

He nods at Derek instead. “Uh, yeah. A painting.”

“Oh. Which one?” Derek asks, casually returning to his meal. 

Stiles flaps his hands around. “You know, the one…” 

Thankfully, Cora comes to his rescue. “What’s with the twenty questions, Derek? Geez.”

All eyes turn on Derek. 

“Just curious,” Derek tells them, his tone slightly defensive. He returns his attention to his plate. 

Stiles blows out an inward sigh of relief. 

After dinner they have coffee and apple pie (freshly baked by Talia) in the family room. They talk about Laura mostly, each member of the family sharing their favorite stories and memories with Stiles.

“Remember when Laura sucker-punched that douchebag Billy Adams for picking on Derek?” Cora recalls with glee.

“He wasn’t picking on me,” Derek grumbles. “And I didn’t need Laura to defend me.”

“Sure, you didn’t,” Cora goads, laughing. 

“Or the pranks she played when we were kids,” Erica adds. “I still remember Derek’s face when that ice cold bucket of water fell over his head.”

“It wasn’t funny,” Derek says moodily. “I ended up getting sick the next day.”

“You can’t sick from cold water, you big dummy,” Cora tells him, rolling her eyes. 

“How about when she insisted she could join the high school football team,” Peter further shares, “because – and I quote – ‘Ovaries and a pair of tits does not render a person incapable of communicating by grunt and acting like a total idiot.’” 

They all laugh, Stiles included. 

“She did get in quite a bit of trouble when she was a girl, didn’t she?” Talia says fondly.

They’re quiet for a moment, each lost in reflection about Laura and her ‘bad’ girl days. It’s Erica who breaks the silence.

“So Stiles, you got any single friends we can set Derek here up with?”

Stiles watches the tips of Derek’s ears go red. “Erica,” he says warningly. 

“Um, I haven’t made many friends since coming to Chicago,” Stiles says, surprised to hear that Derek is _single_. Really? “I’ve got, like, a best friend back in Beacon Hills who’s married with a kid and a couple of acquaintances through school and work. I don’t know them that well, though.” He flicks a glance at Derek. “And, remember, I just met Derek. I couldn’t even guess his type.” Probably blond and built and _female_ , he laments. 

Cora giggles. “ _You’re_ his type,” she says and Stiles chokes on the bite of pie he’s taken. 

Erica claps him on the back. Through the tears in his eyes, he sees Derek giving Cora a murderous look. 

Peter, thankfully, steers the conversation away from his nephew’s single-and-seeking status toward more neutral ground, bringing up the potential ‘expansion’ in the works. Stiles learns that the Hales own and operate a chain of funeral homes in Chicago (kind of grisly for a family so bright and cheerful, he thinks, but everyone’s got to earn a living somehow) and that Derek had just returned from a business meeting to talk about possible expansion north. 

Stiles has no trouble picturing Peter in the role of undertaker. The man just has that way about him. But Derek? He eyes Laura’s twin surreptitiously from under his lashes. Derek would be better suited as a model than a funeral director, although Stiles bets the man looks good in a tailored black suit. He hears Peter mention something about ‘accounting’ and realizes that Derek takes care of the financial aspects of the family’s funeral business. Interesting, he thinks, but still a stretch for Stiles’ imagination. He doesn’t know what he had expected, but Derek the Accountant isn’t it. 

“More coffee or pie, Stiles?” Talia asks, interrupting his now wandering thoughts which, to be honest, are quickly developing into fantasies that involve Derek, numbers, and a smart pair of glasses. 

Stiles considers having another slice of pie but ends up declining, telling Talia and the others that he should probably get going. The Hales are going to the hospital to visit Laura. They invite him to come along but Stiles declines this as well, explaining that, as family, they should have time alone to visit Laura without him being in the way. 

“But you’re family too,” Mara insists, which nearly makes Stiles’ heart break. He’s not family. Laura doesn’t even know him. Stiles is a terrible human being for letting these people – these beautiful people – believe that he’s engaged to a woman in a coma who doesn’t even know who he is. 

It’s with a heavy heart that he makes his way to the foyer. He should tell them, he decides. He should tell them this is all a misunderstanding and that he’s a terrible person who has lied to them and ask them for their forgiveness. They’ll be angry and hurt, he knows, but at least Stiles’ conscience will be clear. 

Talia hands him a Tupperware container with the last of the pie, causing Stiles’ heart to sink even further. He gathers strength and opens his mouth, intent on spilling the truth to her – to all of them - here and now. 

“Bye, Stiles,” Mara says, stepping forward to wrap her arms around Stiles’ middle in a tight hug. He can feel fondness and affection in her squeeze and suddenly feels like crying. God, he wants this. He really wants this. He has been alone for too damn long. He misses his dad. He misses Scott. He misses _family_. 

He swallows the lump in his throat, giving Mara’s back an awkward pat. Stiles knows it will eventually come to bite him in the butt, but he just can’t do it. He can’t tell them. Not right now. He knows it’s selfish and horrible but he wants to keep Mara, Cora, Talia, Nana Dara, Peter, Erica and even Boyd for just a while longer. 

And Derek. He wants to keep Derek too. 

So he says nothing. Just puts on his coat and steps outside to catch the cab Talia had called for him. 

Peter follows him onto the porch. He gives Stiles a considering look then moves to give Stiles’ hand a shake in a parting gesture. He feels the press of a key into his palm.

Stiles raises his eyebrows in question. The corner of Peter’s mouth tilts up in a smirk. 

He’s getting into the cab when his cell phone beeps, indicating a text message. Stiles plucks it out of his pocket. There’s a message from an unknown number. It reads: _Paxton Place. Pick a painting. And don’t forget to water the plants. ☺_

Peter. It has to be. He must have gotten Stiles’ cell phone number from Cora or Erica. They had apparently exchanged numbers while Stiles was under the influence of Nana Dara’s eggnog, or so he’d been told.

Stiles blows out a loud sigh. How much bigger can the hole get, he wonders, before it swallows him up and buries him alive?

**

When he gets out of the cab at Paxton Place, it doesn’t take long for Stiles to realize two things. One: Laura lives in a very impressive and undoubtedly expensive condo building. Two: He hadn’t thought to ask Peter what Laura’s apartment number was.

He glides as inconspicuously as possible into the lobby, hoping to find a directory there that will point him in the right direction. He’s approached almost immediately, however, by a doorman (a _doorman_ , seriously?), who gives him a scrutinizing look and asks, “Can I help you?”

Stiles holds up the key and says, “Laura Hale”, desperately trying to keep the confidence in his voice. He tells himself that he’s mostly successful even though he squeaks at the end like he’s asking a question. 

“Oh, yes,” the doorman says, nodding. “Top floor. Number eight.” He leans slightly forward and adds, “I’m new here. Still trying to get to know and place all the residents.” He gives Stiles another appraising look. “You must be the fiancé. Bad business about Ms. Hale. On Christmas day too.”

Stiles thanks the man and quickly heads for the bank of elevators before the doorman can engage him in further conversation. He’s been lucky so far– probably owing to Peter, he realizes – but he doesn’t want to take too many chances. Let’s just forget the fact that he’s misleading a whole bunch of really nice people. He’s despicable, okay? He knows this. 

He uses the key to let himself into top floor apartment number eight. The first thing he notices is the view. It’s spectacular. One whole wall is windows, which look out over the city. Stiles is sure the view must look even more spectacular at night. The next thing he notices is the décor. He thinks about his own little apartment with the old, well-worn couch and multi-colored afghan that had been handed down through three generations. Definitely a contrast to Laura’s scheme of sleek blacks and pristine whites, modern and obviously expensive. He spares a moment to wonder what Derek’s place looks like. Would it be as ostentatious as his twin sister’s or would it have a more down-to-earth, lived-in feel? 

Stiles finds only one plant – and it’s a cactus. (Ha, ha. Uncle Peter is a funny guy.) He feels the dirt (it’s very dry) and gives it some water, not wanting to be responsible for the death of Laura’s only plant. 

He then looks around the apartment with mildly curious interest. Laura is obviously an art connoisseur and collector. There are paintings hung all over the apartment, although not many that are to Stiles’ taste or liking. He could appreciate art but, to be honest, he doesn’t much care for the black and white (some with bits of color) abstracts that Laura seems to favor. Peter had said to pick a painting but surely he didn’t mean to pick one off her wall, right?

Stiles looks around the apartment some more, avoiding the more private spaces like Laura’s bedroom, already feeling enough like a creeper. He happens upon a storage closet that contains several paintings, some still wrapped. He pulls out the first few to have a look at them. One is another abstract - black, grey and red splashes and splatters. Stiles thinks he might like it if he was a serial killer. One of the others is what looks like a tree silhouette against a backdrop of shades of grey. It’s got a grungy sort of nature feel to it, he supposes, but the starkness of it leaves him feeling cold. Plus, he prefers something with more color. 

He stares at the third one. It’s completely different than the others he’s seen so far. It’s a painting of a black wolf lying on the leaf bed of a forest, a young boy curled up against its side. It’s night obviously – the artist has conveyed the glow of moonlight surrounding the scene beautifully. Stiles decides that the little boy must have become lost in the woods and the wolf, rather than devouring him like so many fables tell, has chosen protect this boy, to keep him warm and safe. 

Stiles decides he likes the painting. Even though blacks and greys dominate the scene, there is so much warmth conveyed through it, partly through the glow of moonlight and partly through the sense of trust and closeness between boy and wolf. It makes him feel safe. The kind of safe he’d always felt with his dad. 

He’s just putting the paintings back in the closet when he hears a noise coming from the foyer entrance. He spies a mop resting in the corner of the closet and grabs it then moves stealthily against the wall. 

Derek reacts instinctively as the mop shoots out to strike him, deftly grabbing hold of the handle before it whacks him in the face. He supposes all those years playing defense in lacrosse are finally paying off. 

“Derek?” the mop wielder says.

“Stiles?” Derek returns, letting go of the mop. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, watering the plants?” Stiles replies unsurely. 

“Laura doesn’t have any plants.”

“Not true. She’s got a cactus,” Stiles points out. “But don’t worry. I’m pretty sure I saved the little guy.”

Derek cocks an eyebrow. A light blush creeps up Stiles’ neck and settles across his cheekbones. Derek absolutely does not find this adorable. Still, he casts his glance away to prevent himself from staring. 

His gaze lands on a familiar painting resting against the wall near Laura’s storage closet. 

“What’s that?” he asks, although it’s too simple of a question for what he really wants to know. 

“Uh, a painting,” Stiles tells him like Derek is thick.

“Yes, I know that, but what’s it doing out?”

“Oh. Uh…”

A horrifying idea hits Derek. “Is _that_ the painting Laura gave you as an engagement gift?”

Stiles rubs the back of his neck. “Uh…yeah,” he says. He seems to assess Derek’s face for a moment then says, almost defensively, “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Derek allows his pinched brows to unfurrow. There’s nothing wrong with the painting, except that it’s not one of Laura’s usual ones. His sister favors abstracts, a collection of which are hung throughout her condo. The only reason she has this painting (and a couple of others probably hidden away in the closet) is because Derek had painted it. 

What he says is, “Nothing. I guess I just thought she’d have given you one of the abstracts from her collection, is all.” The abstracts Laura has collected are worth a hell of a lot more than his amateurish painting, even if it is the one Derek is most proud of. Stiles definitely would have done better to have insisted on an engagement ring. 

“I like this one,” Stiles says, moving to put the mop back into the closet. He passes his fingers over the top of the painting. “I was, uh, gonna leave this here until, you know, but now…”

Derek mentally fills in the blanks: Until he and Laura get married or until Stiles moves in with Laura or until they buy a place together. Now that Laura is in the hospital, it sounds like Stiles maybe wants to take the painting with him, probably to keep a part of Laura (her gift) close to him. 

“I’ll give you a lift back to your place,” Derek offers, assuming Stiles had taken a cab here. “We can take the painting, if you want,” he adds. 

“Oh. Yeah. That would be great,” Stile says. “Would you mind if we stopped for coffee along the way? I, uh, haven’t had nearly enough caffeine today.” He tilts his head and grins wryly. “Still trying to kick the hangover from Nana Dara’s eggnog.” 

Derek grins back. “I know the feeling,” he commiserates good-naturedly. Derek is just sorry that he’d had to miss seeing Stiles looped up on his nana’s nog. 

**

They stop at a café just around the corner from Stiles’ building. 

“So. You’re an accountant,” Stiles says once they’ve settled down at a table with their coffees – black, as usual, for Derek and some whipped latte concoction with an extra shot of espresso for Stiles. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Derek replies, teasing. 

Stiles chuckles. “No. It’s just, you know, it’s hard to picture you as a numbers guy.”

Derek knows he’ll regret asking this. “How do you picture me then?”

The blush that tints Stiles’ cheeks is captivating. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “Just not that.”

He decides to let Stiles off the hook. “My dad was an accountant,” he shares. “He took care of the finances for the Hale business until he passed away.” Stiles flicks him a glance and Derek adds, “Heart attack. Almost twelve years now.” Stiles nods. “When I went to college, Peter encouraged me to enroll in business, specializing in accounting, so I could follow in George Hale’s – that was my dad – footsteps.”

Stiles’ brows pull together. “About that,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to ask. So your uncle Peter is a Hale, right? And he’s your mom’s brother not your dad’s? And you’re all Hales. So how does that work?”

It’s a question Derek gets asked a lot. “My dad took my mom’s last name rather than the other way around,” he explains. “The Hales have always been very matriarchal, you could say.” He smiles softly. “Well, you know Laura and you’ve met our mom, our nana and our sisters so you know they pretty much wear the pants in the family, even if Peter likes to pretend he’s got some degree of control.”

Stiles lets out another chuckle. The rumbling of it is a sound Derek could very much get used to. 

“You?” he asks, keeping the question as broad and vague as possible. His mom and Erica had mentioned something about Stiles not having much family around and Derek doesn’t want to sound pushy or make Stiles feel uncomfortable.

Stiles scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, well, my mom died when I was just a kid. I don’t remember much about her. It was just me and my dad for many years.” He’s quiet for a moment then, “My dad was the sheriff in the hometown I grew up in. A few years ago he, uh, got shot. And he was killed.” Derek hears the controlled emotion in Stiles’ tone. “I had, uh, applied to some colleges and ended up coming to Westwood here in Chicago. When I graduated, I decided to hang around, look for a job. Ended up getting hired by the CTA.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don't have any family anymore. Got a best friend who still lives in Beacon Hills. We call each other all the time but we don’t get to see each other that often. It’s a bummer. But, well, that’s just the way things go, I suppose.”

Derek nods but says nothing. He wants to reach out and touch Stiles, pat his hand or – God - _hug_ him even for comfort, but he can’t. He knows he can’t, however much Derek wants to. 

“It’s funny. When I was growing up, I wanted to be a cop just like my dad,” Stiles continues. “After he was killed, it was just too hard, you know? I took a general liberal arts degree at college and then grabbed the first job opportunity that came along.” Stiles chuckles wryly. “Being a token taker isn’t exactly glamorous but it pays the bills.”

Derek can hear the note of self-deprecation in Stiles’ tone and finds that this bothers him. Stiles is smart, witty and genuinely interesting. What he does for a living isn’t important. What matters is who he is as a person. Laura obviously appreciates Stiles for who he is or she wouldn’t have asked him to marry her. 

Derek would like to say these things to Stiles but he’s not sure if it’s appropriate. He doesn’t really know Stiles, after all. Having a coffee with his twin sister’s fiancé doesn’t exactly make them friends. So, instead he says, “It takes all kinds of people to make the world go round.”

And, really? Derek thinks this might be the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said, but Stiles is grinning at him so he decides he doesn’t really care. 

**

“I’m in trouble with a big, fat capital T,” Stiles sighs miserably into the phone. He’s lying on the floor, his legs propped up on the couch cushion, Cheeto sprawled on his chest, lazily cleaning himself. Stiles sometimes wishes he was a cat. 

“I take it you’re still engaged,” Scott responds unhelpfully.

“Worse,” Stiles further laments.

“What could be worse than being fake-engaged to a woman in a coma who doesn’t even know you exist?” Scott asks.

He loves Scott but, really, the fact that his best friend isn’t able to anticipate just how fucked up Stiles’ life can get over a three-day period is just plain pathetic. 

“Um…how about falling in love with the woman-in-a-coma-I’m-fake-engaged-to-who-doesn’t-know-I-exist’s twin brother?”

There’s a beat of silence then a very audible sigh. Stiles waits. There’s another sigh, then, “So, what are you going to do?”

It’s Stiles who sighs this time. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “It’s like the hole just keeps getting dug deeper and deeper. And now with Derek…” He thinks about how Derek had looked kindly at him when Stiles had told him about his dad. How Derek hadn’t judged him for having just a general college degree and now collected train tokens for a living. How Derek had uttered that line about how it took all kinds of people to make the world go around, which was so corny but also kind of perfect because it had made Stiles feel valued, like he’s somebody special even if he is just an average (possibly even below-average) guy. 

It’s not like Stiles had _wanted_ this to happen. Sure, through a series of unfortunate misunderstandings, he managed to get himself engaged to the woman at the train station he’d been crushing on the past few months - his fairytale princess, or so he’d thought. He really hadn’t expected to discover and fall for a _prince_ , especially not one who happened to share a large chunk of his sister’s DNA. 

“Like I said, trouble with a big, fat, capital T,” he repeats. He gives his eyes a roll and when they settle back to default, they fall on the painting he’d carted in with him, now leaning against the kitchen cupboard. 

His mind shifts gears. “Hey. You know anything about art?” 

“I'm a _veterinarian_ , Stiles,” Scott reminds him. “What would I know about _art_?”

“It’s got a wolf in it,” Stiles says, shrugging a shoulder, as though Scott can somehow intuit the gesture through the phone. 

“What’s got a wolf in it?” Scott asks, not keeping up. 

“The painting that Laura supposedly gave me as an engagement gift,” Stiles tells him. 

Another sigh comes down the line. 

**

Derek drops Stiles off at his flat then goes to the hospital to visit Laura. Stiles had made noises about coming but Derek had insisted that Stiles take a bit of time to himself. Stiles seems to be doing okay, putting on a brave face and all – probably for the sake of the family - but Laura’s accident has got to be taking a toll on the guy. So, he and Stiles had exchanged cell phone numbers and Derek had promised to call him if anything with Laura happened to change.

His mom is holding vigil at his sister’s bedside. She gives him a small smile and a kiss on the cheek when Derek tells her he’ll sit with Laura while she goes down to the hospital café for a cup of fresh coffee. 

Derek sits down in the chair now vacated. It’s just him and Laura in the room and Derek is glad. He loves his family but they can all get a little too much sometimes. Each of them has a strong personality – Erica and Boyd included (well, Boyd not so much but Erica more than makes up for them) – which can be somewhat overwhelming to an outsider. God knows, Stiles must be a little overwhelmed by them. While it’s true he’s engaged to the Hale with the strongest personality in the family, Derek imagines it’s exhausting for Stiles to keep up with Derek’s mother, nana, uncle and sisters. 

He sits silently for a while, just watching Laura, rubbing her hand with his own. He wonders if people in comas dream. If so, what would his sister dream about? Probably Stiles, he thinks. That makes sense. He tries to recall if talking to people who are in comas is a good or bad thing. He thinks good, although it is unlikely that the comatose person will remember what was said to them while in the coma. That, Derek thinks, is definitely good, especially since he has a few things to say that will probably be best not remembered. Derek has never really been good with _feelings_.

He takes a deep breath. Then he starts with the usual stuff – telling Laura how much they love her and how they’re praying that she’ll wake up soon – before tackling the more challenging issue that’s on his mind. He starts and stops three times before finally settling on, “It’s just not fair, Laura. Okay? Our entire lives, you’ve always been the wonder twin and I’ve always lived in your shadow. And you know what? I was fine with that. I’ve never been envious of you because of that. But now….” Derek swallows thickly. “Now, you have something I want, Laura,” he divulges. “You have _Stiles_.” He blows out a sigh. “Stiles is beautiful and funny and fucking _perfect_. And dammit, Laura. I wish…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I wish he was mine.”

There, he’d admitted it. He likes Stiles. He wants Stiles. And he’s jealous of Laura because Stiles is hers and he’ll never, ever be Derek’s. He knows he’s despicable. He knows crushing on his own twin sister’s fiancé while she’s in a coma is ugly levels of low. He knows this but it doesn’t stop him from wishing or wanting.

He drops his head, both embarrassed and ashamed. He’s surprised when he feels a faint push at his head, followed by a soft murmur that sounds suspiciously like “Der-Der”, Laura’s favorite pet name for him. 

Derek raises his head. He watches his sister’s eyes blink open slowly, as she struggles to come to. “Laura?”

The corner of her mouth lifts slightly. Derek spares a second to grin at her before he races from the room to get the doctor.

**

Laura Hale is awake.

This is good news, Stiles thinks. Laura has come out of her coma and from what Derek has said, it sounds like she’ll make a full recovery. Yep. Definitely good. Not even a smidge of ‘bad’ in any of this news. _Except_ …

Well, except now that Laura is awake, Stiles knows he’s going to have to pay the piper. The Hales are going to know that he lied to them – Derek is going to know, probably already knows – and there’s absolutely nothing he can do to prevent that. 

All he can do now is hope that they’ll forgive him. 

**

The Hales are all gathered around Laura’s hospital bed when Stiles gets there. It’s so eerily reminiscent of the first time they met that Stiles almost chickens out. He darts a glance at the closest stairwell exit then gives himself a resolute shake. He can do this. He can face them. He rolls his eyes when he catches Isaac giving him an encouraging thumbs up, even though Stiles appreciates the nurse’s sentiment. He pushes on, ready to face the music.

He goes unnoticed at first. Dr. Martin is shining a light into Laura’s eyes and asking her basic questions, the rest of the family waiting patiently as she gives her replies. 

“Yes, yes…” Laura says impatiently. “I know who I am and I know who they are,” she tells the doctor and Stiles would swear he sees her eyes roll. Laura stares pointedly at each of her family members to emphasize the point, her gaze initially passing over Stiles, who is doing his best to blend into the wall near the doorway. He breathes a silent sigh of relief, thinking he’s safe, but then Laura’s gaze suddenly swivels back to him. “Wait,” she says, eyeing Stiles with a mixture of curiosity and puzzlement. Who’s he?”

“He’s your fiancé,” Derek says, giving his sister an odd look. 

Laura’s nose scrunches up. “I don’t think so,” she says. 

Stiles shifts awkwardly on his feet. All the Hales are looking at him. It’s time to come clean. He can no longer continue this ridiculous charade. He never should have let it get this far in the first place. 

He opens his mouth, ready to tell them everything. He’s cut off by Nana Dara, however, who exclaims, “Poor girl! She’s got amnesia!”

This sets everyone talking at once.

“Amnesia!” Talia exclaims.

“How can she remember us but not remember Stiles?” Mara asks.

“What’s Stiles?” 

“Not what, Laura – _who_.”

“Who?”

“Stiles.”

“That’s what I _said_ , Derek.” Yeah. Stiles is pretty sure Laura Hale has the patent on eye rolling. 

“So does this mean you forgot you asked me to be the maid of honor?” Erica quips innocently.

Cora glares, jabbing an elbow into Erica’s side. 

“Cora!” Talia chastises, while giving Erica a stern look. 

Erica messes Cora’s hair with a hand. “We can both be the maid of honor,” she tells the teenager.

“Hey!” Mara protests. “What about me?”

A tickle fight erupts between Erica, Cora and Mara.

“Girls!” Talia scolds further. “Now is not the time--”

“Maid of honor?” Laura says puzzled. “Why would I ask Erica to be a maid of honor?”

“For your wedding,” Mara replies, pulling away from Cora and Erica.

“Wait,” Laura says. “I’m getting _married_?”

“Yes.”

“To who?”

“To _Stiles_ ,” says Derek. 

“Who’s Stiles again?” Laura asks, confused.

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “ _Him_ ,” Derek huffs out in exasperation, pointing in Stiles’ direction. 

Everyone goes quiet, their attention now drawn to Stiles. 

“Uhhh…” he stammers. 

“So how come Laura can’t remember Stiles?” Mara wants to know again.

“I believe they call it selective amnesia,” Uncle Peter speaks up, looking to Dr. Martin for confirmation. Stiles’ eyebrows raise and he shoots the man a look because he’s really not helping here. Peter, the bastard, smirks at him. 

“It’s actually called _systematized_ amnesia,” Dr. Martin clarifies. “The patient is unable to recall a specific event, category or, in this case, _person_. Although this kind of amnesia is usually triggered by some kind of trauma.” 

“So bumping your noggin and falling into a coma doesn’t count as trauma?” Nana Dara remarks saucily.

Dr. Martin gives Laura’s nana a tight smile. Then, to Stiles’ relief, she suggests that they all step out of the room for a bit so that she can do a thorough check of Laura’s vital signs, telling them that she’ll call them back in once she’s ready. 

**

Stiles is out of the room in a flash. It’s suddenly way too stuffy in there and Stiles is pretty sure he’s on the verge of hyperventilating.

Talia and Nana Dara pat his arm sympathetically then murmur something about going down to the cafeteria. Erica joins them. Cora and Mara take up seats in the waiting area, while Peter heads down the hallway toward the public restrooms. 

Derek crosses his arms and leans his back against the wall next to his sisters. His face is closed off, unreadable. Approaching him seems like a bad idea, so Stiles heads down the hallway instead, following Peter’s path.

Peter is at the sinks, washing his hands when Stiles pushes the door open. “What were you thinking?” Stiles says, gesturing with both hands to make the point. “I was ready to come clean. Now they all think Laura’s got some crazy form of amnesia that’s preventing her from remembering me!”

Peter shrugs as he dries his hands. “My niece just came out of a coma. You don’t want to cause her further trauma by telling her you lied to the whole family about being engaged, do you?”

Stiles blinks at him. How had he gotten in so deep? 

He forces himself to return to the hallway outside Laura’s room. Dr. Martin clicks her way across the floor toward him. 

“We will be monitoring Ms. Hale’s progress and assessing the state of her memory block,” the doctor tells him. Stiles tries not to squirm under her penetrating gaze. “I am allowing the family to interact with her but I think it is best if we give her at least a day before re-introducing you to see if we can jog her memory.”

Stiles nods. It makes sense. Of course, there’s really no memory to jog but he figures it gives him another day before he needs to come clean. He doesn’t want to be responsible for traumatizing Laura further. 

“I’ll drop him home,” Peter kindly offers, suddenly beside him. 

Dr. Martin nods curtly then goes to talk to Derek. 

**

Dr. Martin gives them the green light to go back in to see Laura. Derek decides to join Cora and Mara - mostly to provide support (and, okay, maybe to avoid Stiles) while his sisters go over details Laura has apparently forgotten, starting with her engagement to Stiles.

“Don't you remember?” Mara says. “ _You_ asked _him_ to marry you.” 

Laura looks contemplative. “That does sound like me.”

“You _are_ pushy,” Cora adds and Laura nods.

“Have we set a date?” Laura asks.

“No,” Cora tells her. “But I think you’re leaning toward Halloween.”

Derek rolls his eyes as Laura says, “I do like autumn”, because seriously? 

Cora and Mara murmur their agreement.

“And you probably forgot, but you didn’t buy Stiles an engagement ring,” Mara offers further.

“Oh?”

“No. You gave him a painting as an engagement gift,” Cora tells her.

Laura’s brows furrow. “What painting?”

His sisters shrug. Derek clears his throat. 

“It’s the, uh, wolf one,” he says awkwardly. “The one with the wolf in the forest with the boy.” He knows Laura understands which painting he’s talking about. 

Laura’s nose scrunches in thought. “Really?”

“Apparently, you gave him a choice of paintings.”

Laura’s lip curls. “And he chose that one. Interesting.”

Derek has no idea what Laura can possibly find interesting about this. Really, they were twins but sometimes it felt like they were barely related. 

“Come on, Laura, you’ve _got_ to remember Stiles,” Mara says dramatically. “He’s your one true love!”

Derek forgoes eye rolling in favor of gritting his teeth. 

“You know, he _does_ look familiar,” Laura muses.

“Of _course_ he does,” Cora says. “He’s your fiancé.”

“Hmm,” Laura says, looking thoughtful. “He is very cute.”

Derek decides he’s had enough. He plants a kiss on Laura’s forehead and tells his sisters he’ll be back later. He finds his mom, Nana Dara and Erica and tells them Laura’s ready for the rest of them. With the exception of not remembering Stiles, Laura doesn’t seem to have suffered any other damage. She’s exactly herself. 

He goes home then, pours himself a double-shot of whisky and very determinedly tries not to think about his twin sister’s fiancé. 

**

“She’s awake.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replies. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“So this means you were able to explain how the engagement was all just a misunderstanding then?” Scott probes further.

Stiles chews on a thumbnail. “Uh…well, not _exactly_.”

He should really tell Scott that his big, loud sighs are not helping.

**

He returns to work the next day to find that Finstock has plastered the token booth with newspaper articles about the ‘CTA hero’ who saved the life of a woman who’d fallen onto the track. He knows it should make him feel good – to have news articles proclaiming him a modern-day ‘hero’, but it doesn’t. He may have saved Laura Hale but now he’s lying to her and her whole family by keeping up the engagement charade. 

Stiles had had the chance to nip that in the bud right after Laura was taken to the hospital. But sentimentality and desire to be part of a family again had won out. Now it’s coming to bite him in the ass. How is he supposed to explain to Laura - explain to the Hales - that he’s essentially been lying to them, inserting himself into their lives where he has no right to be. 

He collects tokens and counts down the hours to the end of his shift. He spends his time trying hard not to think about Derek and how he’ll react once Stiles finally reveals the truth. 

**

Stiles is home for barely an hour when there’s a knock at his door. He peeks through the peephole and sees Greenberg.

Great.

“Heeyy, Greenberg,” he greets cautiously, pulling open the door. 

“You said tomorrow,” Greenberg says. “Yesterday was tomorrow but you were out so I thought maybe today could be tomorrow.”

Stiles blinks. “What?” He thinks he might need more sleep. 

“Coffee,” the landlady’s son says.

Coffee? When had Stiles said…? Ah. On Boxing Day. When Derek had come to ask Stiles to the Hale family dinner. Greenberg must have still been on the landing or in the stairs when he had said that. And was that really only two days ago? 

“Right,” Stiles says, now clued in. “Coffee.” He squints at Greenberg. “How do you feel about tea?”

“Tea?” asks Greenberg.

Stiles nods. “Chamomile.”

“Uh, I think I like it?”

Stiles opens the door wider. “Good. I’ll make us each a cup.” He gestures for Greenberg to sit down while he collects two mugs and two tea bags then nukes some water to boiling. Hey, don’t judge. It’s quicker than using a kettle. 

He sets full mugs of tea on the wooden crate he uses for a coffee table. He sits down on the couch, keeping as much space between him and Greenberg as possible. Stiles doesn’t want to send the wrong message here. He’s an engaged man, after all. 

“Just to be clear,” Stiles says, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to verbalize the message. “This--” he gestures a hand between them – “isn’t a date.”

Greenberg’s brows pinch together. “It’s not?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nope. It’s just two guys hanging out.” He picks up the mug from the coffee table and raises it to his lips. “Two guys hanging out having chamomile tea,” he adds then makes a grimace. He quickly swallows some of the tea, not even caring that it burns his lips and throat. It might stop him from talking. 

They sit in silence for two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. (Stiles knows this because he’s been watching the second hand on the old face clock that’s hanging above the sink.) It’s Greenberg who finally speaks up. 

“Nice painting.”

Stiles follows Greenberg’s gaze to the ‘engagement gift’ painting that’s still leaning against the kitchen cupboard. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, it’s nice,” he replies.

“Where are you going to hang it?” Greenberg asks. 

Stiles blows out a breath and looks around his small flat. “I, uh, hadn’t really thought about it.” 

“It would like nice on the wall there,” Greenberg tells him, pointing at the wall space between Stiles’ bedroom and the bathroom. 

“Good suggestion,” Stiles says, gulping back the remainder of his tea. He glances at Greenberg’s mug. Only a quarter of the tea is gone. 

“I can go grab a hammer and a nail,” Greenberg offers. “Help you hang it.”

Stiles quickly waves him off. “Thanks, but I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” Greenberg tells him, getting up from the couch.

He’s gone and back in a flash, carting a hammer, some nails, a measuring tape and what Stiles thinks is called a leveler (his dad always took care of these things when Stiles was growing up). Greenberg does some measuring and leveling and then hammers a nail into the plaster. 

Stiles mounts the painting then steps back to have a look. It looks nice on the wall, he decides, taking in afresh the details, the feelings it evokes. Protection. Safety. Comfort. He’s never been one much for art but he likes this piece. A lot. He’s going to have to give it back to Laura, of course, but he can at least enjoy it for one day. 

His eyes fall to the corner of the painting, drawn to a detail he hadn’t noticed before. There’s a symbol – three interlocking spirals, like the one he’d seen tattooed on Laura’s hip. He looks closer and sees two letters in the center, a D and an H, probably the initials of the artist, he thinks.

D.H.

_Derek Hale?_

It would make sense, Stiles thinks, given the symbol. Maybe it was some kind of family crest or something. And Derek had reacted a little oddly when Stiles had told him this painting was Laura’s engagement gift to him. No wonder. He’d probably expected his sister to give Stiles some other painting, not one of those he had painted.

So Derek is an artist. Well, he’s an accountant. But he’s an accountant with an amazing talent for art. This adds a whole other dimension to Laura’s twin brother that Stiles does not want to think about. He just can’t. 

Because he’s already half in love with Derek. 

And this makes things complicated. 

So much more complicated than they already are. 

**

Stiles waits a couple of days before he goes to see Laura. Unfortunately, Cora and Mara are there, which completely throws off Stiles’ game plan. He had hoped to talk to Laura alone so that he could confess the whole engagement sham with minimal potential further misunderstandings. With extra Hales around, that potential rises significantly, he’s learned. 

“Stiles!” Mara greets excitedly.

He’s not ready for the almost tackle-hug the girl gives him. He ends up flailing because that is exactly the kind of awkward thing Stiles is prone to doing.

“Oh my God, aren’t you just the cutest thing,” Laura gushes at him. “No wonder I asked you to marry me. You’re _adorable_.”

“Uh…” is all he manages. Because awkward, remember?

Laura pats the bed beside her. “Come. Sit. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Stiles gulps. Laura Hale is clearly a woman used to being in charge. And - wow – up close, she’s kind of scary.

Stiles tentatively moves toward the bed at Laura’s beckoning. Cora and Mara slip from the room. He misses them immediately. 

“So. We’re engaged,” Laura says without preamble. 

“Um…” Stiles really needs to work on his communication skills. 

Laura gives him a penetrating look. Stiles is not afraid to admit that it intimidates the hell out of him. 

There are several beats of intense silence before Laura says, “My whole family loves you, Stiles. Which is…new,” she adds thoughtfully, “because they haven’t really liked many of my boyfriends before.”

Like Jackson, Stiles thinks. The guy Laura was (god, is?) dating. 

He’s surprised to feel Laura pat his arm, gently, kindly. “My family is very important to me, Stiles,” she says. “Their _happiness_ is important to me. And they’re happy we’re engaged. Do you understand that?”

Stiles nods. This is what makes telling them so hard. 

“So,” Laura says, suddenly shifting gears. “Remind me what it was that made you choose Derek’s painting?”

**

Stiles opens the door, thinking it’s the delivery guy with the pizza he’s ordered. (It’s New Year’s Eve and he’s treating himself, okay?) It’s Greenberg, though, looking panicked.

“I need your help, Stiles,” Greenberg says urgently, biting viciously on a thumbnail. 

“O-kay,” Stiles replies warily. “What’s the emergency?”

“I have a _date_ ,” Greenberg tells him, his eyes widening. He’s clearly in a panic.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles says in comfort, shooing the landlady’s son inside his flat. “What do you need my help with?”

“ _Everything_ ,” Greenberg says. “I don’t know what to _wear_ , I don’t know what to _say_ , I don’t know what to _do_.”

“You haven’t been on many dates before, have you?” Stiles remarks, understanding.

The tips of Greenberg’s ears turn red. “No,” he admits softly. “But Jared from third floor asked me to go with him to a New Year’s Eve party tonight. I _really_ like him, Stiles. I need you to help me.”

“Why me?” Stiles wonders. “I’m sure your mom could have helped?”

Greenberg rolls his eyes. Okay, so maybe Greenberg’s mom isn’t the best go-to person for date guidance. Still, Stiles isn’t exactly a pro in this department. He’s dated only three people in his twenty-six years. 

“Look,” Greenberg says, “You’re cute and hip and everyone likes you. I just need you to help me be more like you.”

“I think your best bet is to just be yourself,” Stiles tells him and he means it. Greenberg is an okay guy. Likeable even when he’s not being creepy. Or hitting on Stiles. 

Greenberg huffs a sigh. “Can you at least help me look good?”

Stiles shrugs. He’s willing to give it a shot. 

He directs Greenberg to his shower and goes to his closet to look through some of his nicer shirts. He considers a few before pulling out the green pinstripe button down.

Jared from third floor isn’t going to know what hit him, Stiles thinks, determined.

**

Derek climbs the stairs to the second floor. He probably should have called ahead, but he is hoping the element of surprise will be in his favor. He wants to have a chance to talk to Stiles, express a few things, before it becomes too awkward.

He raps twice on the door. 

“About time!” he hears before the door is yanked open, revealing a harassed looking Stiles, cheeks pink, hair mussed, lips full.

“Derek,” he says, blinking.

“Is that the pizza?” a voice asks from somewhere within. 

A man comes into view behind Stiles, shrugging into a green dress shirt. He’s skinny, Derek assesses, not altogether bad-looking, his hair wet like he’d just come out of the shower.

Just come out of the shower. 

In Stiles’ flat. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek mumbles, feeling the heat creep up his neck and cheeks. He turns on the landing and quickly heads down the stairs, ignoring the “Derek!” that’s called out after him, needing to put distance right now between him and Stiles.

Because there is a man in Stiles’ flat. A man that obviously showered there. For reasons that Derek can well guess. 

He gets into his car and drives away, doesn’t give in to looking back. He goes at least a mile before he allows himself to think, to feel. There’s a part of him that knows he should be feeling angry right now. Angry on behalf of his sister because her fiancé is apparently cheating on her - while she’s in the hospital, recovering from injuries and a coma. 

But what Derek is feeling isn’t so much anger but _jealousy_. He’s jealous – very jealous - at the thought of Stiles being with another man. A man who isn’t Derek. 

He bangs a fist on the wheel. 

Fuck. 

He’d gone and fallen in love with Stiles, Laura’s fiancé. 

How screwed up is that?

**

Derek isn’t picking up so Stiles leaves another voice message and sends another text, trying to understand what the hell had just happened. 

He’d opened the door, thinking it was the pizza delivery guy and there had been Derek, looking all deliciously scruffy and gorgeous. The next thing Stiles knew, Derek had muttered an apology then had bolted, practically running down the stairs. He hadn’t even turned when Stiles had called out to him.

And now it would seem he was ignoring Stiles’ calls and texts. 

“Pizza’s here now, I think,” Greenberg says, gesturing toward the door. He’s got the green shirt buttoned up now and Stiles has to admit it does look pretty good on him. 

Stiles pays the delivery guy and collects his pizza. He sits the box down on the counter and checks his phone again. Still nothing. He pulls out a slice of the pizza and shoves it into his mouth. 

“So, that guy,” Greenberg says, helping himself to a slice of Stiles’ pizza. “Is he your boyfriend or something?”

“No,” Stiles says immediately. “No, he’s--” What? What is Derek? A friend? His soon-to-be brother-in-law? The guy Stiles is in love with but doesn’t have a hope-in-hell’s chance with because he’s lied to the guy and his family about being engaged to his twin sister? “It’s complicated,” he settles on. 

Greenberg nods. 

They devour half the pizza before Stiles goes back to work on Greenberg. He puts gel into Greenberg’s hair, mussing it to give it a kind of Zac Efron look. Or whatever. (It’s probably more One Direction but he thinks it suits the kid.)

“You know what?” Stiles says, giving Greenberg a lookover, impressed. “You clean up pretty good, Greenberg.”

“Steve.”

“What?”

“My name is Steve,” Greenberg tells him.

“Oh,” Stiles replies with a grin. “Well, you look good, Steve.” And he’s surprised to find he means it.

“You really think so?” 

“Jared from third floor will be drooling.”

Greenberg (Stiles can’t get used to calling him ‘Steve’ yet) blushes. Stiles pats him on the back and sends him out the door with a wish of good luck. 

He checks his phone again. Still nothing from Derek. Stiles blows out a sigh and opens the lid of the pizza box. Cheeto jumps up on the counter, sniffing.

“It’s just you and me,” Stiles tells the cat, nudging a crust toward the tabby. “Happy fucking New Year.”

**

Derek wakes up with a hangover. He’d blame it on one hell of a New Year’s Eve party except he hadn’t gone out. 

After Derek had left Stiles’ place, he considered going to see Laura, to tell her what he’d discovered. Not that Stiles might be cheating on her. Not that. Derek had been initially derailed, yes, but he would never betray Stiles or hurt Laura without getting all of the facts first. He’s a rational, even-tempered man (he’s an accountant, for godsakes) - despite what his uncle often said about Derek’s passionate side. Admittedly, Derek was a bit of a hothead when he was a teenager, but he’s over thirty now and quite level-headed, even if he does have a tendency to let his heart rule over him.

Which brings him to last night’s discovery. 

Derek is in love with Stiles. 

He knows it’s wrong. He knows he can’t love the man his sister has asked to marry her. He knows it and he understands it. But it doesn’t make the feeling any less strong. 

In the end, he’d chickened out. He’d gone as far as driving to the hospital and riding the elevator to the second floor. But then-- He just couldn’t face Laura. So, Derek had turned tail, gone home, opened a bottle of eighteen-year old scotch, and rung in the new year, alone and miserable. 

And he’d made sure to turn off his phone. It had made it so much easier to pretend he hadn’t noticed the messages and texts from Stiles that way. 

But it’s morning now. A brand new year. Hangover or not (it was damn good scotch), Derek has to deal with this. He has to come clean with Laura and with Stiles. It’s the only way he’s going to be able to live with himself. 

**

Stiles’ whole body is vibrating. It’s nerves. Because he’s nervous. Of course, he’s nervous. This is a big thing. Still, it’s something he has to do. 

Isaac is at the nurse’s station when he steps out of the elevator. Stiles can’t help it, he chuckles. He’s nervous, remember? Isaac gives him a funny look and a two-fingered wave. He reminds Stiles of Scott in many ways. Maybe he and Isaac could become friends after this. It would help ease some of the loneliness. 

“Happy New Year,” Stiles says when he enters Laura’s room. 

She’s dressed in a dark green silk robe that brings out the color of her eyes and highlights her flawless ivory skin. 

“Happy New Year, Stiles,” Laura returns with a smile. She makes a gesture with her hand. “They say I might be getting out of here soon.”

“Good,” Stiles says, his head bobbing. “That’s good.”

Laura pats the bed beside her. “What’s on your mind?”

It’s like she has an intuitive ability to read him. He’ll miss that. Just like he’ll miss Mara’s enthusiasm, Cora’s snarkiness, and Erica’s badgering. He tries not to think about it.

“Look, Laura,” he starts with. You’re really awesome.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re kind, but…” Laura looks at him expectantly. Stiles blows out a breath. “But I can’t marry you.” 

“You’re breaking up with me?” 

“We were never really engaged,” Stiles tells her. 

“I know.”

“It was all just a misunderstanding,” Stiles continues. “First Isaac and then your family. Things just sort of took a life of their own. Then there’s Derek. And I just--Wait. You _know_?”

Laura smiles at him. “Of course I know. Come on, systematized amnesia? If that were the case, I would have blocked out Jackson, my asshat of an ex. Besides, Peter told me about the misunderstanding.”

“He did?”

Laura nods. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles offers. “I’m sorry for lying to you and lying to your family. It was just nice being a part of a family again, you know?”

“They love you, Stiles,” Laura says. 

He doubts they’ll love him after he tells them the truth.

“Stiles?” Laura says, locking eyes with him. “You need to tell him.”

Stiles lets himself think for a moment. Then, “What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Laura smiles kindly and pats his hand. “I guess it’s up to you to decide whether he’s worth taking the chance.”

**

“Cora said the wedding’s off,” Derek says when he steps into Laura’s hospital room. She’s getting discharged this morning and Derek had volunteered to pick her up and bring her home.

“Yes,” his sister says, packing things into a small overnight bag. “Stiles and I are not getting married.”

“You _dumped_ him?” Derek expresses in disbelief. 

“Technically, he dumped me,” Laura says nonchalantly, like it doesn’t bother her at all. 

“What?” he says. Is Stiles really so insensitive as to break up with Laura after she’d just come out of a coma?

“It turns out,” Laura says. “He’s in love with someone else.”

“I knew it,” Derek mutters. “It’s that guy I saw at his flat. He’s been cheating on you this whole time.”

Laura gives him a look. “God, you’re such a twit,” she says. “Are you sure you’re my twin brother?” She huffs a sigh. “Stiles is in love with _you_ , doofus.”

Derek blinks at her. “What?”

Laura rolls her eyes then grabs Derek’s shirt and yanks him forward. For a woman who came out of a coma recently, she’s surprisingly strong. “Listen,” she says. “You love him. He loves you. So need to get your head out of your ass, Derek, and go ask Stiles to marry you.”

“I—what—you—he,” Derek stammers, completely confused. 

Laura puts a hand on his shoulder, apparently taking pity on him. “Look. I didn’t forget Stiles, Derek. I barely know him. He’s the guy who collects the tokens at the train station.”

Derek blinks some more. “What?”

“He’s the guy who collects the tokens at the train station,” she says more slowly, like Derek is thick. “I see him almost every day but we’ve never really interacted.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Laura explains to him. “We were never engaged.”

“But why would he…?” Derek is still having a hard time understanding what Laura is saying. 

His sister rolls her eyes. “You know what our family is like, Derek. Poor Stiles never stood a chance once that ball started rolling.” 

Laura is right, he knows. Still. “He could have told me.”

Laura shrugs. “I think he wanted to,” she says. “But he was afraid to lose you. Lose all of us.” She kisses his cheek. “Go and get him, baby brother.”

“I was born _first_ ,” Derek grumpily reminds her. 

Laura grins at him. 

**

Stiles absently collects tokens. He’s feeling surprisingly okay after sitting down with the Hales and telling them all the truth. They were, as Laura had suggested, pretty understanding about the whole thing. Of course, Cora, Mara and Erica were disappointed that there wasn’t going to be a wedding, complaining loudly about not getting to be co-maids of honor. Nana Dara expressed how unfortunate it was that Stiles would probably not come around as often anymore and invited him to join her bridge club. Talia had insisted Stiles would remain a friend of the family, saying something about being ‘stuck with them’ now. Yeah. The Hales are good people and Stiles is glad he isn’t going to lose them completely. 

He hasn’t talked to Derek yet. He’s still trying to work up to it. Telling the rest of the family about how he’d lied is one thing. Telling Derek that he’s in love with him is a whole other, far more complicated thing.

His attention is drawn to a person lingering in front of his booth. Stiles looks up to see Derek - scruffy, gorgeous and so perfect, it hurts. 

“Hi,” Derek says.

“Hi,” Stiles returns. 

“Can I come through?” Derek asks. 

“Not without a token,” Stiles tells him, deadpan.

“Will this do?” Derek asks, holding up something round and silver and dropping it into the token bin. 

He hears the clink of metal against metal and stares down at it.

It’s a ring. An actual ring. Like the kind you wear on your finger. 

He scoops it up into his palm to get a better look at it. It’s silver with a triple interlocking spiral and trinity knots etched into the band. 

“The triskelion is kind of our family’s crest,” Derek explains softly. “That ring has been passed down to male members of the Hale family. It’s mine now but I’d really like for you to have it.”

Stiles swallows the emotion bubbling up in his throat. He keeps his eyes on the ring, knowing he’ll lose it if he looks up at Derek.

“Laura says you kind of love me.”

Stiles wipes the back of his hand under his nose. He looks up at Derek. “Yeah,” he says. “I kind of do.”

Derek smiles. “I kind of love you, too.” 

Stiles presses the button to let Derek through.

**

So Stiles had planned to marry Laura but he ended up marrying her twin brother Derek instead. 

One night, several years later, a crush-bitten Tara asks Stiles when he had known Daddy Derek was _The One_.

“Well, kiddo,” he says, sitting down on the end of his teenage daughter’s bed. “It all happened when your Aunt Laura was sleeping…” 

**

**CAST OF CHARACTERS**

Featuring...

and


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